


when you sleep (will it be with me?)

by writeforyou



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Daddy Blackwall, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Kink Meme, Lactation Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeforyou/pseuds/writeforyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I swear to you,” the vow tumbled from his lips, “with everything that makes me who I am, to any Maker or Stone or Ancestor that is listening, I will spend the rest of my days making myself worthy to stand at your feet.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>Collection of Blackwall and Sol Cadash fics, mostly based on Dragon Age Kink Meme prompts. NSFW will be marked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tell Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DAKM prompt. It's a kind of fix it for the romance conversation after Blackwall's personal story. Personally, I felt it was a bit too public, that there's wasn't as much of a reaction from the Inquisitor as I would have liked, so this.

 

She refused to answer the question. Rainer implored her quietly, so the courtiers would have to strain their ears to hear it, but right here, in this moment, she was the Inquisitor. She was passing judgement for the good of the land - she told herself it was the good of the land because he had done some good since, both with her and without, and no one who had killed innocents deserved to escape their guilt with death. She knew that from personal experience.

When she called him to her room, there, she would be Sol Cadash, the woman who had fallen in love and had her heart broken by lies and secrets. It wasn’t the fact that he gave the order that upset her, it would be hypocritical for her to say that. Her position in the Carta, trusted as she was, was only gathered through two things: her ability to do her job and her family name. She was excellent at her job. It wasn’t even that his men had died because of it - in her line of work, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for those lower down the food chain, as it were, to take the fall.

But these were things she never kept from him. When this had all begun, before he had decided to venture to her rooms and confess that he could not stay away - Sol tried to stop the memory from going any further because she didn’t wish for that time to be tarnished any more than it already was - she had told him everything. It wasn’t exactly a secret among her circle that Sol was in the Carta, but to Blackwall, she had told much more. About the runs she had made at the beginning, when she had first joined. About the people that she had lost in them when it went wrong. About how she had trained and learnt everything she could, every sly and underhand tactic available to her, just to make sure that it never happened again. About the bad lyrium she had passed onto templars without guilt, about the betrayals that had been dealt her during business deals and all the times when she had been responsible for them. She told him about the people she had killed, how she hadn’t felt anything for them, not even now, not even when she should. She told him things that she never expected to tell anyone, that she never expected she’d want people to know before they -

And he lied.

Blackwall held onto the secret of Thom Rainer, let it fester and ache and grow until it was too disgusting for him to hide any longer. He left her, alone so that he could go try and make right something that Sol would have been able to tell him was impossible to make right, not in the way that he wanted.

He was a free man now, but he didn’t walk like one when he entered her rooms. Sol remained sat at her desk, back to him, and made him wait. He knew that she was doing it, but he didn’t call her on it. She supposed that he didn’t exactly have a leg to stand on when it came to her right now. She took her time, carefully filled in the reports - she still had days until they really needed to be in - crossed the ‘t’s and dotted the ‘i’s, pulled back to examine the page carefully, checking for mistakes and blotches of ink on the paper. When she was satisfied, Sol blew against the drying ink before leaving it to dry.

She stood up carefully, and the gown she wrapped around herself fell delicately when she turned. He straightened up a little and waited.

“You came.” She didn’t smile.

“I... you asked for me, my lady,” Rainer replied carefully.

“I did,” she nodded, and folded her arms across her chest. “I think I, more so than anyone else, deserve an explanation.”

His face twisted a little. “I told you-”

“That isn’t good enough,” she interrupted sharply, and he went silent, eyes wide. She rarely snapped, lost control. She was strong, silent, witty - Sol knew because she had made herself like that. But this was tugging too close to where it hurt and she couldn’t be blasé about it, she just couldn’t. She did stop, though, and made herself take a breath. “I told you everything. You know everything. You know what I did, what I’m capable of, and yet you lied. Why?”

“You know why,” he replied tersely.

“No, you tell me as whichever you that you are now, to me, the woman you said you loved.”

“I do love you,” Rainer bit out the words harshly, the first thing he’d said since he entered the room with any kind of conviction. Sol was comforted by that. He stood up straighter, shoulders tense and fists clenched.

“So tell me,” she tried to keep her voice even, “Tell me everything.”

He hesitated, but he as ordered. “I was a coward. I...I gave an order that I knew I shouldn’t have, my men didn’t know and followed without question and they suffered for it. I wanted to pretend that I was better, that I could better than I was. Make up for what I had done to that family, to my men. I know now that wasn’t only it. I wanted to make up for it, but I wanted to pretend that person didn’t exist. But he does. And I can’t escape that.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and Sol allowed him that. But still she waited.

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear him tell her.

But then, Rainer already knew that. “I lied to you, not because I thought you wouldn’t understand or that I didn’t trust you with it or whatever it is you believe. I lied because it was the easiest way to keep my distance from you, to remind myself that you...you weren’t for me.” Then he laughed, equal parts amused and bitter, and he ran a hand through his beard. She knew he did that when he was nervous but didn’t want to show it. “But there is something about you. It just made me want to... I am a weak man, and not even knowing that I was lying to you made it easier for me to walk away from you. And then, I couldn’t tell you. Because it was too late.”

Sol nodded slowly. She didn’t like it, but it was an answer at the very least.

The silence stretched out too long, and she saw the way that Rainer tensed and shifted and worried with his hands, waited for her to say something. Anything, she suspected, would be preferable to him than the quiet, and she wasn’t going to give in that easily.

“Will you ever forgive me?” he asked lowly, eyes lowered away from her.

She answered honestly. “I don’t know.” He flinched and she turned her gaze from him, chewed on her bottom lip. “I want to hate you,” she continued, “I wanted to kill you.”

“Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you let me hang?”

“Because you doesn’t deserve that kind of freedom, and I love you too much to watch you die.”

Relief was in his posture. Love. The magic word. It was strange the kind of power it had, over her, him, everyone. It wished to make things okay, everything, even if that thing couldn’t be fixed so easily. It tried, Maker did it try. Sol wanted to let it.

“How can you still...?” Rainer wondered, amazed, terrified at the answer.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she resisted. “I just do.”

“Would you stop, if you could?”

“Right now, yes,” she admitted. “It would be simpler if I did not care for you as much as I did. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt half as much.”

“I never wished to hurt you.”

“Wishes change nothing. You still did it,” she snapped and stopped herself, pressed her open hand to her forehead in frustration. “I’m sorry, that does not help matters.”

“You are entitled to your feelings,” Rainer said carefully, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should comfort her.

“Yes, I am,” Sol said surely. She looked at him now, tilted her head and asked, “Was there anything you told me about yourself that was true?”

“If you base lies in truth, you are less likely to slip up, get caught in a web.”

She hummed. “Yes, that is true.”

“Does it make it better for you?”

“Maybe a little,” she answered. That was something that she knew well enough, at least. “It makes what happened between us seem more real, at least.”

He moved towards her now, cautious steps, and Sol remembered the times when they weren’t. When he would come to her rooms, and she would smile at him as he approached, let him rest his hands on her shoulders, kiss her in greeting. He was Blackwall then, sure of his place with her, lighter than he was anywhere else, and in those times, she herself would admit that she felt as if she were something other than Carta, Herald, Inquisitor. She wished it was one of those moments now, but it wasn’t. She refused to pretend it was. She kept her eyes locked on him and waited.

“I may have lied about my name, my past, but I didn’t lie about how I felt,” Rainer uttered the words, almost as if he had rehearsed them. Sol wondered if he had. “No matter who I am now, and no matter what becomes of me. I’m just a man with his heart laid bare.” He stopped, swallowed, “I leave it in your hands.”

She wished she could hate him, for what he put her through, for what he didn’t say. She wished she could walk away and find someone else. But they would never be him - Blackwall, Rainer, whoever - and she hated what he had done to her. It was difficult to see past him now, to a world where they weren’t more. To where they were only ex-lovers. She couldn’t see herself getting over him, not like she had with previous partners. Couldn’t see herself with anyone else, but him. And she wasn’t one to deny herself what she wanted.

She wished this was simplier. She wished feelings weren’t involved. She wished she had better taste in men (and women, now that she thought about it. They hadn’t exactly been perfect either, jeez). She wished she didn’t love him as much as she did.

But wishes didn’t change anything.

“Love is nothing without trust,” she whispered, and the wound revealed itself on his face. It hurt to see, but she felt sick gratification in knowing that he felt what she felt, even just for a moment. She took a step closer, wrapped her hand in his and once again, marvelled at the size difference between them. He held onto her tight, desperate, as if afraid that she would disappear if he let go. “If we’re going to continue, it can’t be like before. You’ve got to be...you. No more pretend. No more lies.”

He shook. “Lady Cadash, Sol, I-”

“I’m not joking,” she butted in quickly and realised that her grip had tightened, that she was holding him as he held her, “You can’t do that to me again. No more lies. Not even omits of the truth. Not even if you think it’ll make me feel better because I can’t do this again, okay?”

She blinked and felt the tears well, and pushed them back pointedly. No, she would not do that. Not for anyone, not even him. His free hand rose to her cheek, the calloused edge of his thumb rough against her cheek.

“Never again,” he promised. It felt like he meant it. Maybe her face didn’t show it, maybe she didn’t believe as much as she thought she did, because Rainer’s face hardened with decision a second before he dropped himself to his knees before her. He reached for her second hand with his and held, not grabbing or yanking or pulling, just holding, dipped his head forward to press his forehead against her stomach. A submissive position if she ever saw one.

“I swear to you,” the vow tumbled from his lips, “with everything that makes me who I am, to any Maker or Stone or Ancestor that is listening, I will spend the rest of my days making myself worthy to stand at your feet.”

Sol curled her toes. Wished she hadn’t gone barefoot now. “Blackw - Rainer...”

He shushed her. “I was never worthy of you. I wonder if I ever could be. But if after everything, you still want me here, with you, this close to you let alone - I will be the man you saw me as. Someone who you deserve to have at your side. I will do whatever you ask, just to ensure that.”

She slide her hands from his. Placed them upon his head, threaded her fingers into his hair. “Get up here and kiss me.”

He was quick to oblige. He didn’t pick her up as he had done before, a dominating display of power and strength. He bowed for her. He didn’t push in, rough and biting and demanding satisfaction, her satisfaction. It was gentle and on the desperate side of soft, as if he were trying, so trying, to be different, to be good. It made her heart thud in her chest. Her fingers locked in his hair and she deepened the kiss, listened to his startled moan and feeling it vibrate to her core. His hands flexed around her waist, as he grappled for control.

It would be too easy to fall into bed with him now, and Maker did she wanted to. The urge to just fuck her frustrations out of him. To make him fully commit to those words. He would do so willingly, she was sure. And later, she would present herself to him and tell him to get to work, ride his face until she was desperate and wanting and gushing and close so close, make him bring her to the edge again and again until she was content. Later, she would ride his cock and tease him, drag it out, a pleasure-pain punishment for everything.

Now though, she just wanted him to hold her. She told him as such.

His weight was large and warm, kept her pinned to her own bed, and she welcomed the feeling. Good and safe and content, surrounded by his scent - she had missed him there, in her bed, she hadn’t realised until he was gone. He was quiet beside her, just breathing and watching her as if she would slip away. It was fine though, Sol felt much the same way.

“What do I call you now?” she wondered, her voice muffled by his chest.

There was a long pause before he answered, “Thom. Here, you can call me Thom.”

 


	2. "elbow deep in circumstance"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Written for a DAKM prompt. Fisting, basically.

 

Blackwall would say it was spur of the moment if he didn’t already know Sol as well as he did. Nothing was spontaneous. She thought everything through with an almost paranoid amount of precision. In battle, she calculated the largest number of enemy forces and how long it would take them to win. She had taken far too many hits than Blackwall would like in the name of following the plan she had mapped in her mind.

He was sure that she got the idea from someone - Varric or Dorian probably, Sera or Iron Bull definitely - and thought on it. Thought the logistics, what it meant, what it would feel like, and, once she decided this was something she was game for, what she would have to do to get it. She could have asked him but she wouldn’t incase he refused, so for him, he would be something that came out of nowhere.

He wasn’t sure whether he was thankful for that or not.

For all her words at the beginning about now being Andraste’s Chosen, she definitely liked to be worshipped. By him though, only him, she swore it and he believed her. It wasn’t exactly a chore for him. She answered every touch so beautifully, with gasps and moans or little shivers that let him know he was doing something right. Blackwall always took his time when they were alone like this, in her rooms. Out there, when they were traipsing around every known corner of Feredlan and Orlais, surrounded by their party, everything was quick, a fumble, fast, rough, relieving tension. He refused to let that be all they were, not when they had the chance to take it slow, no fear of getting caught with their breeches down. So when he got to her core, she was always wet. One push of his finger against her folds and he was granted access to more.

It would slip in easily and she sigh against the intrusion. He watched her as he worked, enjoyed the way her eyes were dark and hooded when she looked at him; the way she’d raise her fingers to touch her breasts, stroke slowly, nails scraping against the sensitive tips that he had spent too much time-not enough taking into his mouth before; the way her legs would slide further apart to give him more space.

Blackwall pressed kisses to her navel as he pushed a second finger into her.

She moaned at that, pinched her nipples just a little too roughly. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment before opening to watch him. As if she didn’t want to miss anything of him. His lady was too good for him.

They’d never gone past three fingers. She was small compared to him, and he was large in comparison to most men. The stretch of three fingers was always enough to have her keening, thrusting down onto him, begging. He expected that. It wasn’t what she got.

Her back arched and she groaned happily, but her hands pulled away from her breasts, one reached to grasp her hair and the other down to grip her thigh. She shuddered a breath, tried to regain some semblance of control before she said the word.

“More.”

Blackwall slowed but didn’t stop, wasn’t sure that he could at this point. “More?”

She made an approving noise and nodded her head. “Please.”

He was a selfish man, but a weak one and he couldn’t deny her. He pulled out almost completely and then pushed in, four fingers. Her whine vibrated through her, and he felt hot all over.

“Fuck...” he cursed, and had to reach to wrap a hand around the base of his cock.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when she said the word again. “More,” slurred and desperate and shit, he bowed his head to rest against her thigh, felt it shake beneath him, and tried to catch his breath.

“Sol, you can’t-”

“I can, I can, I can,” the words fell over her lips as if she couldn’t control them. The fingers in her hair yanked and she shook. “Please, more.”

He would break her. The voice in the back of his head that was telling him that she was too precious to be taken like an animal reminded him of this. But, shit, she was asking. Begging.  And the thought - she was already stretched now, but he thought about Sol pulsing around his wrist, trembling, screaming, wet and warm around him, red and sore - the heat coiled in the pit of his stomach. Too much, too much.

She reached to wrap around his wrist, her hands unsteady - they were never like that, he had caused that. She tugged, not enough grip to control but enough so he knew where she wanted him, and made a wounded noise of frustration when he didn’t do as he was told.

She could take him, he realised, tucking his thumb into his palm and pushing in. There was resistance, just for a second, and then she opened and accepted him, all of him and fuck.

Sol muttered thank yous that sounded like sobs. Her hand was still around his, she let out loud noises whenever her knuckles bumped against her clit on each of his thrusts. He wanted to look at her face, see if she was okay, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her cunt. It was better than he had imagined, a stark contrast between brown, red and white. She was hot inside, so wet, he could feel the slick slipping between his fingers, making it easier. Every downward thrust made this noise, squelching and sticky and it seemed to echo so loudly. It was obscene. He jerked down too harshly and a scream wrangled from her throat. He thought it was from pain, made him start, but she didn’t pull away from him, didn’t ask him to stop - just rolled her hips down onto his fist harder.

“Maker’s breath,” Blackwall muttered the curse, his voice deep and rough with lust, “Can you hear yourself? Fucking wet, and all for me. Is this for me?”

She whimpered and nodded.

He shuddered a breath. “You will be the death of me, I swear it.  Fuck, you should see yourself. How do you feel?”

“Ugh...full,” she rasped out, “Please don’t stop.”

“Never,” he bit out the word harshly, “I’m going to make you cum, from this. I wanted to feel you cum around me. And then I want to taste you. Maybe I’ll have you ride my face and suck on her fingers, would you like that? Tasting yourself?”

Sol keened and a breathless curse tumbled from her bruised lips. He chuckled darkly, arched forward to bite down roughly on her thigh. She cried out, leg twitching.

“Put them next to your head,” he muttered the order. She shook to comply, let go of him and herself, so that she could wrap her hands around  her thighs and lift them. He felt her move, felt the stretch and was sickeningly pleased at the sound she made when the stretching was so much more. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to her clit and hummed.

“Now that’s better,” he mused, and she nodded agreement, although he wasn’t sure she knew what she was agreeing to. Her face was flushed, her open mouth to let out harsh breaths, hair sweaty and sticking to her forehead. Her eyes were glazed over, staring at him with open desire. His free hand went to her arse, rubbed at the flesh before he hit it, felt her shake around him, grinned and did it again. A shout lodged in her throat. Her tits jumped.

“You must be close now, yes?” he wondered, rubbing the reddening skin soothingly.

“Yes, yes yes yes yes,” Sol babbled.

“Do you want to come just like this?” Blackwall questioned, and his hand drifted to his cock, holding it for a moment and stroking. He was too sensitive, red at the tip and beginning to purple, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He tried to keep his voice even though. “Just from my fist. Or do you want me to suck on your clit -” he did as he said, she clenched around him. “Oh, I do think that’s a winner. Is that what you want my lady? Do you want me to put my mouth on you? I know you like it. Maker, you cum so hard when I suck on your clit. You want that?”

She begged him for it. Who was he to disappoint?

It didn’t take much, after that. Three short thrusts and his nose buried into her damp curls and she screamed her release. It was raw, animalistic even, trailed off into shaky sobs and low ‘i love yous’ that he took with a filthy kind of satisfaction. She slumped, legs falling heavily when she let go, twitching, eyes closed and chest heaving. He waited, just for a moment longer than he meant to, wanted to remember this feeling, never forget, before he pulled himself from her. Sol let out a low whine and blinked her eyes at him. They were still blown but lidded with contentment - something he had given her.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he commanded, wrapped the hand he had used on her, wet and smelling of something purely, primally her, around himself and tugged quickly. He braced himself at her splayed thighs, free hand flexing in the sheets. He was rough, violent even, so close, he could taste it on the tip of his tongue alongside her. He gritted his teeth, let out little grunts of pleasure. He never took his eyes off her, except for the moment he came, a groan pulling from his throat, limbs shaking and mind humming with whitestatic.

He came across her stretched hole, across her thighs and her stomach. A marking. A claiming. She gasped at the feeling, clenched down on nothing. Blackwall stared at his seed upon her hungrily.

He bracketed himself between her thighs when he moved into to kiss her. It was slow and languish, lethargic, everything too heavy. She tasted like strawberries and blood, and he knew that he must taste like her. Sol didn’t seem to mind, sucked happily on his tongue until he had to pull away with a pleased sigh.

“Minx,” he growled out, dragged his teeth across her neck.

Her fingers brushed through his hair affectionately. “Minx with the best ideas.”

 

 


	3. baby's milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Written for DAKM. Daddy Blackwall and Lactation Kink.

 

There were many things she had grown used to with having Blackwall in her life. She was used to waking up half pinned to the bed because he tossed and turned like a beast unless he could feel her there beside him. She was used to the beard burn that flared up even now and then. She was used to odd hours, being woken up while he snuck out to the stables to finish off whatever latest thing he had taken to crafting. But this, him holding their son, she didn’t think she’d get used to that.

Maison was seven months old and Sol still found herself astounded by his existence. Her son. Her and Blackwall’s son. He had her caramel complexion, and her full lips, but he had taken after his father with the thick mat of dark hair that had only gotten darker as months went past, and his eyes had darkened from crystal to navy. Perfect. Bias, maybe, but true.

“He asleep?” Sol inquired quietly, drew her dressing gown around herself tighter.

Blackwall looked up at her, and then back down at their son. “Yeah,” he told her with fond gruffness, “Thank the Maker.”

She padded into the small room off theirs that had since become his, ran her finger gently over his soft crown. He yawned at the feeling but didn’t stir. “You should put him down, Josephine said that he shouldn’t get too used to falling asleep like this,” she told him.

“I’d like to see her try to put him down without,” Blackwall grumbled protectively. Sol smiled into his arm. When it came to their boy, there was little Blackwall wouldn’t do, including rock him to sleep every night if he had. She liked the sight of the man with rough edges being so gentle with their child, she’d encourage it anyway she thought best.

“He’s just too adorable to put down,” she told him.

“Damn straight, just like his mother,” Blackwall said warmly.

“And I was going to say like his father,” Sol teased back.

He shook his head and informed her. “Maker, I wouldn’t wish that upon him.”

“He could do worse than grow up like you,” Sol uttered.

“It’s...too kind of you to think so,” he said carefully. He didn’t believe her, she knew that, and yes, there were parts of his life, just as there were parts of hers that would rather her son never have to experience, but the man he was now, that man was a good man. She didn’t say anything about it though, smiled softly, patted his arm and told him that it was time to put baby to bed.

“He’ll be up in a few hours at any rate,” she reminded him, “You’ve got to get some sleep, it’s your turn tonight.”

“It was my turn last night,” Blackwall grumbled.

“I gave birth to him,” Sol retorted.

“You’ll have to give up that one eventually,” Blackwall told her, lowering the little boy into his crib. Maison made a distressed noise at being moved from his comfortable position, squirmed a little on the mattress but didn’t wake up, body slumping with sleep. Sol tugged the sheets up to his waist, smoothed them down carefully. Even with her earlier words, she had to stop, just for a moment, to watch him sleep, to make sure he was still breathing (a not entirely irrational fear, she knew, but her mother claimed it was normal. Sol had asked whether it ever went away. Glinda had smiled sympathetically and said, “unfortunately, no”).

It was Blackwall that guided her from the room, carefully shut the door until there was only a crack. Sol sighed, shook off her worries for a moment. She raised their interlocked hands to press a kiss to the back of his before she released him, approached her vanity and began to very carefully pull the pins from her hair.

That was when the pinching started. The ache in her breast that grew in crescendo until she couldn’t ignore it. Her face screwed up, her hands went under, lifted them slightly. It did nothing to help. The heaviness was uncomfortable. It pulled tight at her skin and she winced. Blackwall noticed of course, looked up at her from where he was perched at the end of the bed, undressing himself for bed and frowned at her. He made his way to her, caught her eye in the mirror and reached out to brush his thumb along her jawline.

“Is something wrong?”

Sol tried to smile. “It’s nothing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s normal, breast feeding issues,” She tried to placate but of course, that didn’t work.

Blackwall asked, “what do you mean ‘breast feeding issues’?” and she sighed in defeat before carefully explained that she was full, would feel like this until Maison was hungry and needed his next feed. “Until then, I’m just going to sit here with tit ache.”

There was a pause and, “is there nothing I can do to help?”

Sol paused at the roughness of his voice. He probably didn’t even realise how he said it, that voice that told her that he was thinking naughty thoughts and made her heat up just a little in anticipation. She glanced up at him under her lashes, noted the way that he wasn’t really looking at her, eyes glazed and staring into the distance, how he pet at his beard when he lost himself in thought. He knew what he was asking, she knew that he did.

“I can think of a way,” she replied carefully, and then he looked towards her, eyes blown and her chest ached for an entire different reason.

Sol stripped, thought it would be easier that way, and laid herself against her sheets. Even with the fireplace going, it seemed too cold and she shivered, goosebumps rising on the surface of her skin. He followed after her, stripped down to his smalls, and laid himself across, between her legs and chased away the cold.

“You certain, my lady?” he questioned.

She swallowed, her throat dry. Her hands went to his hair, held him like that, and nodded wordlessly.

The first flick of a tongue against the sensitive nub had her shivering. He had to reach a hand up to cup the underside of her breast to keep it steady when he finally made a seal, and sucked.

She thought it would feel the same, but it didn’t. The same pull, the same sensitivity, the same feeling of flooding release, but it was different all the same. It was like a twist feeling of maternity that had everything to do with taking care of the man before her. Knowing that it was him there was enough to make her wet, and she swallowed, wondered whether it was appropriate to reach down and touch herself.

Sol resisted, tightened her grip on Blackwall’s hair instead.

His teeth scraped and she winced, muttered the order “no teeth”. He looked up at her and blinked with hooded eyes. She didn’t think she could be turned on by the sight of milk on his lips, but it definitely happened. He nodded, accepted the instruction, and went back to work. No teeth this time. Sol sighed happily and sank into the pillow.

His large hands splayed across her belly, and rubbed there gently. It wasn’t toned, having Maison made her softer, curvy. She would lose it soon enough, when she felt like she was ready to leave her son for days while she went to deal first hand with troubles that have no doubt arisen. The workout would bring back the definition she had lost, so she intended to enjoy the time when she wasn’t as hard. Blackwall seemed to enjoy it, at least, but now that she thought about it, he enjoyed every part of her pregnancy. She looked at him now, lost in the rhythmic action of suckling, and thought, even this.

“You’ve wanted to do this for a while, haven’t you?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Blackwall pulled away slightly, flicked his tongue across his lips as if chasing the taste of her, and looked embarrassed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Is there a time when you’re not wanting to suck on my tit?” she challenged, and he laughed lowly, nuzzled the space between her breasts affectionately and murmured, “yes, you may have me there, my lady.”

He paused and hesitantly asked, “Would you like me to stop?”

Sol ran her finger over the wet nub, clenched around nothing at the feeling, and shook her head. “No, but I do think it’s time for you to change sides.”

“As my lady wishes,” Blackwall mocked, descended on her right breast with undisguised eagerness. A smile played on her lips and she gave herself over to the relief.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Blackwall calls Cadash 'my lady'.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because it’s appropriate. He knew that people were afraid of her, of the power that she could wield and that it had fallen into the hands of someone so not like them. He knew that she was a good leader, that those in her close circle respected her as much as one could a friend. He knew that she had little patience and a quick wit and a teasing smile. He knew her name, knew her position. But he didn’t know her.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because she was a little terrifying. He had seen her smile and laugh and joke with the rest of them, get down and dirty with the common schmuck. She would tell stories about her time in the Carta, the people she had killed, the drug deals, the surprising clientele, and look on fondly as she did. There was no apology for what she had done, no shunning away, and it scared him how much she didn’t care. Not when his own tales sat so heavily on his chest that sometimes he couldn’t breathe.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because he was in awed by her. She was such a small woman, but there was power in every movement. Every step she stood was commanding. Every sway of her body was carefully controlled. Every twitch of her face held some kind of meaning that he was slowly beginning to decode for himself. And when she fought, she focused so entirely on ending the threat, but she would divert in an instant to protect those around her. More times than he cared to admit, she would step to take a blow for him. He had patched up and watched her get patched more times than he cared to admit. He had known bigger people to flinch, but she wouldn’t, just smiled and said, “I’m adding to my collection”.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ to remind himself that he couldn’t touch her. She may smile and tease and flaunt and be his temptation in physical form. She may flirt about his charm and his mannerisms or the gentleness of his touch. But she didn’t know, and she never would. He was tainted, demons swarmed his past and haunted his memories, and he didn’t want her to be touched by them. But he was weak, and he could not resist her. ‘My lady’ no longer worked as his shield.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because she shivered when she heard it, panted against her ear. He could bring her closer to the edge with two words and he relished in the power of it. The only power he had in those moments, and even then he never doubted that it was power she granted him, nothing more. It was the look in her eyes that told him to come to her. It was by her hand that he was guided, to her lips or her between her legs. It was her moans, the hitches in her breath, that spurred him on. It was her choice to let him pin her to the hay that night and take her as if they were animals. She deserved better, he thought deliriously at the time, but the thought had been chased by kisses and demands that he would have been a fool to refuse. She will have better, he told himself when he made the decision to leave her there. She had been so peaceful, so unaware of the monster she had bedded, and he couldn’t bear to wake her. A note was the coward’s way out, but he never claimed to be otherwise.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because he couldn’t bare to say her name. He could see the stiffness in her, the angling of her eyebrows, the hurt in her eyes and he knew that he had put it there. He spat the name ‘Inquisitor’ in response to his own bitterness, but he reverted back to the title when the words became too personal, when he was so tired from explaining. A part of her wanted her to hate him, knew that she should after he had lied to her, to everyone, but her especially. Hate him like he hated himself. Another part saddened that she wouldn’t remember him how she had once believed, a grey warden, a hero. A life that he might have had, if there had never been an ambush. His life had always been full of ‘what ifs’, and he was struggling to keep her one of them.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because he resented her use of power. He was ready to die, to face his sins, and she had used it to take that from him, bring him back to face her of all people for his crimes. It was as if the Maker was taunting him. She sat there on her throne with him at her feet. He remembered when she had said that she enjoyed that, him at her feet. He didn’t think either of them believed it would be like this. He tried to antagonise her, play on her feelings, make her feel disgust. He didn’t want mercy. He wanted freedom of it. But she cut his words off at every turn, told him that he should never get solace from those things he had done. The words had stung, made him want to recoil from the venom in them, but she would know. She demanded that he atone. Work for her. Continue his work with the Inquisition. “Be Thom Rainer,” she commanded. He was helpless but to obey.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because when he had tried to say her name, she had gotten this look in her eye that made the word die on his tongue. They were starting a new. Trying. She loved him, that is the only reason why he got this second chance. He’s not worthy of it. But he would try, if that’s what she wanted of him, because he would do anything to keep her in his life. He sent her gifts, flowers or those sweet smelling oils that an Orlesian merchant bought it and she had commented that she enjoyed the scent of. He told her about himself, everything about Thom Rainer - the boy, the Captain and the wannabe Grey Warden - because there would be no more secrets between them. He braided her hair away from her face and ran her baths, was prepared to write love poems if he thought that would work on her (or if he were any good at writing them). Sometimes she would smile with happiness. Sometimes she would kiss him sweetly, and other times not so sweetly. But she never gave anything away. Never told him if what he was doing was right. It frustrated him to no end, but he felt he had no room to complain.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because it was habit at this point. The words fell from his lips without even trying nowadays. The words would make her smile, a real one, and he would get to wrap his arms around her and hold her there. Kiss her where any eyes could see them. They were better now, not perfect but better. He still had bridges to build - with more than just her, the others too, those he had considered his friends, there was still distrust in their eyes and he would rectify that if he could - but he was getting there. At least, she seemed to think so. She had let him back into her private space. She didn’t like that kind of invasion, but for him, she had allowed it. He would forever be grateful about what that meant.

 

He called her ‘my lady’ because for once, she really was his. It wasn’t about possession, about claiming her in front of the world. She was better than that. Besides, he knew the truth. He was hers, through and through. But he liked the sentiment, like the affection. Like the fact that when they were alone, she would kiss him, hum and tell him, “All yours”. Or that when they were in public, it was their thing. A couples thing. The kind of thing that made him grin goofily and her sickly pleasure slip into her features. Dorian would flutter his eyelashes at Bull and ask why he didn’t call him anything like that. Bull would reply “because, kadan, the names I call you would make the Divine’s ears bleed”. Cassandra would make a disgusted noise, and Josephine would raise a hand to smother a giggle. Cullen would roll his eyes with fond exasperation and try to get the conversation back on point. Sera would make a joke about them needing a room - “not that having a room ever stops ‘em from shagging any which way. Oh, yeah, don’t think I didn’t see when...” - and Vivienne would make a comment about decorum with her smile twisted in a way that seemed to suggest that she didn’t care much for it. Cole would mumble something about lightness and happiness and beauty - definitely his thoughts, Maker’s balls, sometimes he thought the kid had it out for him. Although, he supposed he could put up with a little embarrassment, for her sake.

  
He called her ‘my lady’ because for him, for the rest of his life, she would be it.

 


	5. knocked up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW (towards the end). The Inquisitor finds out that she's pregnant.

 

The most surprising thing about finding herself with child was that Sol was surprised it happened at all.

It had been two month after Coryphaeus, four since she found out about Blackwall and Thom Rainer, and things were still upheaved. There was always something for her to deal with, something going wrong in some far and distant corner of Thedas that required her attention. She would argue that was why she hadn’t noticed something off with her cycles. Stress had a habit of doing the same thing, it didn’t necessarily mean that she was...

But once the idea had planted itself, she had needed to find out.  Needed to be sure just so she could get the thought out of her head. Except now she couldn’t. The healer had confirmed it with the kind of patient smile that in her experience always had something else behind them. Not that she cared about it then. She had slightly bigger issues to focus on.

Because she was pregnant.

She was going to be a mother.

“Shit.”

 

*

 

She told Cassandra first. The warrior had been her friend, the closest now, there since the beginning of it all, and she figured, of anyone in Skyhold, she would be the one to react with the least amount of drama. Judgement, most likely, but no drama. And she’d get a straight answer. Sol really needed that.

She said the words so casually that it took Cassandra a moment before she faltered and messed up her footing. She spun on her heel to look at the dwarf, sword still raised threateningly, and she didn’t try to hide the shock that took over her features.

“How?” was the first thing she asked.

“Now, Cassandra, do I really have to explain the birds and the bees?” Sol fell back on sarcasm, and the warrior’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Sol sighed, rocked back on her heels a little and admitted, “There’s only one time. Before...” she trailed off, figured that she didn’t have to say.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise before her lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows aligned downwards. An expected reaction, to be honest. The whole thing of Blackwall’s past had been hard for many of her circle to handle, and she understood. In the beginning, she had even felt justified by the shared feelings of betrayal. It was better now though, everything was on better terms, but it was clear to all that Cassandra had not entirely forgiven him as much as she might have wanted to. Well, this announcement wasn’t going to help.

“What do you wish to do?” she asked carefully. She still sounded like the soldier, the Seeker, waiting for the Inquisitor to give her direction.

Sol shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly, “I never planned for this.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would,” Cassandra accepted the answer, “What does Blackwall think of all this?”

“He doesn’t know, you’re the first person I’ve told,” Sol informed.

Cassandra’s features softened, touched with her surprise, and a smile played on her lips. “I...thank you for trusting me with this. I am not so good at advice though, especially in this kind of situation.”

Sol nodded understandingly. “I know,” she sighed heavily, “I should talk to him. Figure...something out. Anything.”

“Do not let him pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do,” Cassandra reminded her forcefully.

Sol didn’t tell her that wasn’t likely to happen, not with Blackwall still firmly believing in his unworthiness, but she took it for the words of care that they were supposed to be, patted her arm and went in search.

He was in the stables, just like always. Sol had to appreciate his dedication to being predictable these days. She wasn’t sure what he was working on, it looked like furniture, she couldn’t be sure, but whatever it was, it had his full attention. She watched him work for a moment, admired how his large, battle scarred hands could create something with delicacy that she never would have expected he had until they had fallen into bed together. A distraction, only delaying time, and she moved further into the stable, didn’t quieten her steps. Blackwall looked up and smiled at her.

“My lady, what do I owe the pleasure?” he greeted, setting his tools down. He reached out to touch her cheek when she was close enough, and instinctively, Sol leant into it.

“Just wanted to talk,” she said softly.

“About what?”

She paused and considered her words before she said them. She wanted to be careful, wanted to make sure she said the right thing. “Something important. Do you have time to take a break?”

His eyebrows furrowed worriedly, and said, “For you, all I have is time.”

The fire, the only thing that chased the draft in the open space, was gestured to and Sol lowered herself beside it. Blackwall followed, grunted when he did so, and then looked at her earnestly. Sol still didn’t know how to start.

“Do you,” she stopped, sighed and tried again, “How do you see your future?”

Blackwall looked taken back by the question and his eyes glazed with concern, but he answered the question. “Here, I suppose. With you, I hope.”

“You wish to stay with me?”

“Until the end of Thedas, my lady,” he vowed. It was overdramatic, something she’d only read about in one of Varric’s romance novels, but still, the words warmed her, assured her to hear. He added, his voice uncertain, “Do you not feel the same?”

“That’s not it,” she rubbed her forehead thoughtfully, “I guess, I just...I never thought that far ahead. The here and now, with you, dealing with the mess Coryphaeus left us, that was enough.”

“And is it not anymore?”

“It’s not viable to think like that anymore,” Sol corrected. “I - we - there is more to think about now.”

“Oh,” he didn’t relax as such, but he didn’t look as worried. “Has new information come to the war table?”

“Probably, there’s always something, but that’s not why I’m here. This news is more...personal,” she tried again. “It’s...” she let out a frustrated noise, irritated and snapped out the words, “do you like kids?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, I see you with the families of the soldiers. You sword fight with the children sometimes, you feint defeat and everything and they get these giddy looks on their faces, just so pleased and,” Sol stopped. She was getting ahead of herself, “You’re really good with them.”

“Sol,” Blackwall said her name sternly, made her look up at him like a guilty child herself, “What is this about?”

The words “I’m pregnant” tumbled from her lips before she could stop them, and the stable fell into a stark silence. Sol winced, glanced up at Blackwall uncertainly.

“I...what?” he blinked.

She said the words again slowly, and then waited, gauged his reaction.

He squirmed, flicked his tongue across his bottom lip, and his hands flexed over his knees. “Are you...certain?”

“The healer told me this morning,” Sol confirmed. The weight of the words, what it would mean for her, for them, made her shoulders slump. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“Do you want to...” he made gestures that didn’t really mean anything, but Sol understood.

“I don’t think so,” she admitted. Her hands drifted to her stomach, the first time she had done that, and she shuddered a breath.

Blackwall shifted closer. “Can I?” he raised one hand, and Sol nodded, layer her hand over his when he pressed there and held on. He stared at her, at her stomach, awed, and it was relieving.

“You want this,” she whispered.

His eyes darted to her face and back again. “I never realised until now.”

Sol nodded. She understood. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“No, it won’t,” Blackwall agreed.

“But it would be worth it?” she asked, needing his confirmation.

“If you wanted it to be worth it, it would be,” he answered, “I would find any future I have with you, with or without a babe, to be worth it.”

Her voice shook when she teased, “you’re way too charming for a man I found in the woods,” and Blackwall cracked a smile before he leant in to kiss her.

Of course, by dinner, news had spread and everyone knew. Sol had been prepared to wait a few days, adjust to it herself before she let her company know. After her family, there was no one else that she needed to tell. No one else that she cared enough to tell. But they were hopeless at pretending and she wasn’t going to play along. The conversation slowed when she entered the hall, and eyes followed her when she lowered herself into her seat. She squinted at them for a moment, thought about delaying and then said, “Alright you fuckers, how’d you find out?”

She looked at Cassandra automatically, and the woman arched an eyebrow unimpressed. “You truly believe I would tell?”

“No, but you’re the only other person I told,” she responded.

Dorian placed a hand to his chest and gave her a mock offended look. “You told Cassandra but you didn’t tell me?”

Blackwall eyed her. “You told Cassandra before me?”

“You,” she pointed at Dorian, “are not helping.  And you,” she turned to Blackwall, “I didn’t know what to do and Cass is the best for not beating around the bush.”

“Some would call that a lack of tactic,” Varric interjected and smiled charmingly at the glare the Seeker aimed in his direction.

“Congratulations then are in order Inquisitor,” Cullen murmured, smiled softly.

“Here here,” Iron Bull cheered, slammed his fist down on the table and drowned his drink. He said something in the Qunlat that Sol was pretty sure she didn’t want translated as he poured himself another.

“I have to say, this is quite unexpected,” Vivienne spoke, and there was no denying the tinge of disapproval in her voice. She cut her food dainty, and looked up to meet Sol’s gaze at the other end of the table, “The inquisition is a powerhouse, and just how stable do you think that powerhouse will be when the Inquisitor herself is out of commission?”

Sol tilted her head consideringly. It was something she had thought about, worried about even. She had her duties, she had her position - she knew what that entailed. She spared a glance at Blackwall, noted the downward pull of his lips and she knew he was thinking about it too. And she decided on what to say. “My mother managed to raise three kids as well as taking control and leading the Carta branch in Nevarra. The Carta never fell from it, and we are stronger than they are.”

Vivienne pressed her lips together. “It is not exactly the same thing, but I can see the resemblance. Then, if you are happy Inquisitor,” she raised her drink in silent toast.

“We’ll have to have a party, make all the appropriate announcements,” Josephine began to list, her eyes lit up with excitement, her hands waving dramatically. It went on and on, and Sol felt herself panicking. So much to do, so little time. She hadn’t even thought about it. It must have shown on her face because Blackwall reached for her hand as he said, “Perhaps we should wait some time Josie. Give us time to get used to...everything.”

The diplomat's words trailed and her eyes went to Sol, who nodded just a tad too eagerly. “Well, if that is what you wish, but it would be considered rude to wait too long. Those who are allied with us will want to celebrate.” Josephine didn’t say anything about the political necessity for this, but she didn’t have to. Sol wasn’t new to the word of manipulation, and everything was far game, including her child.

“I promise. Before I start waddling,” she swore, and then frowned at the thought. “God, I’m going to be huge.”

“Short, unsteady steps. Hands on stomach, bigger now, takes two hands to hold, stroke, caress,” Cole breathed the words, “Proof of life, proof of love, everything I’ve ever wanted but never knew all wrapped together like a blissful dream. She’d complain, about aching feet and the size of her clothes, but my clothes look better on her than me, and it is hardly a chore to rub the aches from her body, not with everything she’s given. She’ll glow - Maker, she’ll be beautiful.”

He could have said more, probably would have, but beside her Blackwall coughed pointedly, cheeks flushed and grumbled out, “I thought you were getting better at not doing that.”

Sol looked at him, bit her bottom lip when she tried to hold back a smile. He pointedly wasn’t looking at her, kept his eyes on his food which he poked awkwardly with his fork.

Cullen gave him a sympathetic look and tried to subtly push the wine bottle towards him.

“Eloquent,” Dorian grinned, looking immensely pleased.

Cole’s eyebrows furrowed. “But you rub her feet anyway.”

“Kid, haven’t we spoken about going through people’s heads?” Varric asked calmly.

“But I didn’t.”

Sol raised one hand. “Yeah, actually I told him that one.”

“Maker’s breath,” Blackwall muttered under his breath, and finally reached to pour himself a drink.

Sol took the bottle from him, made to pour her own when it was yanked from her hold. She yelped and looked up to see Sera behind her, holding the bottle above her head. Her expression was almost scolding. “You’ve got a baby in ya. I read that drinkings bad for it, causes all kinds of messed up shit, so not any more.”

Sol watched the drink go mournfully, sighed and pressed her hands to her stomach. “Well, this is going to be a long five months.”

 

*

 

He made her lay on her bed, the shirt (his of course, she had too many stuffed in her draw to use as night clothes) rucked up over her breasts, and laid himself where he could see her stomach. His hands were warm, splayed there, fingers rubbing undefined symbols into her skin. Sol hummed under the ministrations, and brushed the loose strands of hair that escaped the messy bun away from his forehead. That expression was back, that awed disbelief, and it made her heart ache.

“I’m going to start showing soon,” she informed him, “get fat.”

“Not fat,” Blackwall corrected her, “Pregnant. With my babe.”

“Oh, yours, is it?” Sol teased.

He dropped a kiss onto her navel, rubbed his beard there when he nodded. “Mine. Both of you.”

She hummed. “I suppose so.” she traced the dent in his forehead with her finger absentmindedly. “I didn’t know being Daddy would make you so possessive.”

“Me neither,” he admitted, “But I like it. Daddy. Mummy. You and Me.”

She let the words roll about in her head for a moment. She thought about high pitched laughter and the patting of little feet running down the hall, grubby kisses and chants of her new title. Mummy. She was pretty sure that beat Andraste’s Herald for sure.

“Me too,” she agreed finally.

He kissed her stomach again, traced the pattern of a bump that would soon be there. His hands rubbed along her thighs, flicked too high up for her not to feel a flicker of interest. The kisses became firmer, touches a little rougher, and when he finally dragged his finger over her slit, she was damp. He scraped his teeth across her lower stomach, nipped at the skin there and grinned wolfishly.

“I can’t wait until you’re full here,” he muttered the words, “Heavy with babe.” His fingers stroked her, dipping into the folds. “Round. Beautiful. Make me want to fuck you all the time. Maker, the thought is making me hard.”

From where she was laying, she could see the thrust of his hips against her sheets, wished that it was between her legs. “I could ride you.”

He hummed. “I do like it when you ride me. Your tits bounce wonderfully.”

“Everything-” she stopped to gasp when two fingers curved into her. Her voice was breathy when she continued, “Everything about my tits is wonderful.”

“Very true,” Blackwall agreed, eyed them hungrily, and Sol wished that he was up there to suck on them. But he seemed content on staying where he was, frustratingly far away from where she wanted him. “They’d be bigger though, sensitive too. Well, more so than usual. Do you think I could make you cum just from sucking on them?”

Sol thought about it, tight tips and soft licks, and she clenched around him. He chuckled. He kissed her navel again and confirmed darkly, “Yes, I do believe that is something we’re going to do, my lady.”

“You don’t have to wait for me to ride you,” she reminded him.

“My lady, if I sink myself inside you, I won’t be able to think. And you should know what I’m going to do to you,” he told her patiently, and she shivered. Bit her lip and waited.

He was going to eat her out. Have her like this, or maybe hovering over his face, hands braced on the headboard. He’d hold her sides, let her take her pleasure from his tongue, cover himself in her when she finally trembled around him. He was going have her lay in his lap and suck on his cock, have her bend her neck to reach him, to take him all in. He’d stroke her hair, tell her how good she was, cum over her tits and lick her clean.

He was going to make her play with herself, legs splayed, fingers reaching over her swollen stomach to reach her clit. He’d want to see her bring herself to the edge, her core squeezing around her own fingers, wishing it was him. He was going to fuck her on all fours, so that he could lean over her and hold her waist against him. He was going to lay her on her side, take her slow, listen to her moan and shake and beg for more. He’d be able to kiss her that way, tilt her head towards him and muffle her. He was going to cum on her, her tits, her cunt, her belly. White markings that made her his, just like the way her body would change to accommodate his seed.

“But that one is for me and you,” Blackwall bit out the promise, “Only us.”

Sol whimpered in response, reached up to pinch her nipple between her fingers. She was too hot all over, lost in her imagination, in anticipation that was amplified by every touch. His thumb was rubbed her clit now, two fingers scissored her open, and she rolled her hips into it. His beard rubbed against the sensitive skin on her thigh, and she came with a startled moan ripped from her throat.

Sol was still coming down from her high when he moved, clambered to cover her body with his own. He rutted against her, his cock sliding through the wetness of her cunt. The head would catch on her clit and the ferocity of his thrusts made him slip away, had her moaning in displeasure and him cursing and hurrying to right his wrong.

A second orgasm came quick on the tail of her first, everything too sensitive, too rough, too good. Her nails dug into his back when she did, a low sob in his ear. Blackwall groaned when he came, the sound vibrating through him, and she felt the shot of heat that covered her front before he lowered himself onto her. Even post-release and heavy limbed, he was mindful not to put too much of his weight on her. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder for it.

“Thom,” she murmured.

He tilted his head towards her, voice gravelled when he said, “Yes?”

“You better not be lying to me,” she told him.

He chuckled darkly, reached up with shaking hands to wipe his thumb across her bottom lip. She followed automatically with her tongue and tasted herself there. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know what you think, thoughts on Sol, her relationship with Blackwall etc. If you have any prompts, feel free to drop them too me :)
> 
> i have tumblr: [caadash](http://gladers.co.vu)


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